


the run and go.

by haleinskibro



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), Attempted Animal Violence, Attempted Murder, Blood, Chef Stiles, Dogs, Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Explicit Sexual Content, Extreme Useage of Italics, F/M, Flamingos, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Good Peter Hale, Hitman Derek, Kinda, M/M, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek, Revenge, Sabotage, Secret Identity, Violence, Weddings, Writer Stiles, based on a book, but dont worry, the pupper is ok, violent use of a frying pan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9063061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleinskibro/pseuds/haleinskibro
Summary: aka Stiles and the Hitman— this is just not Stiles' week. First, there was the guy with the gun who tried to take his dog. and then, some guy climbed through his window saying he was there to protect him from any more potential dog-nappings of any kind. throw in someone trying to take his house and ruin the wedding that could make or break his career, Stiles just needs a soft bed, a couple shots of vodka, and a long, long, vacation —





	

**Author's Note:**

> the idea for this story came to me when i was rereading my favourite novel, "agnes and the hitman" by jennifer cruise and bob mayer (brilliant story you should honestly check it out) and as i was rereading it for the hundredth time i was like "this would make a hilarious and amazing sterek". so i wrote it.  
> some of the dialogue and such is from the book but i tried my best to be as original as possible. 
> 
> title from the 21p song of the same name :)
> 
> —all rights for characters and ideas go to the rightful and respectful owners and creators. i own nothing. this is all for fun.—

Stiles stood back and watched as the sugar bubbled faster and hotter, the thermometer in the pot steadily increasing to the temperature he needed it to reach. Peter was still yapping away on the phone, hs constant string of weekly complaints about Jackson truly bringing the man to his wits end.

“I just don’t understand, Stiles.” Peter huffed, his light voice tinted with anger. “I don’t understand how he could just, how can someone in their right mind leave their fiancé, the person they love and are willing to devote their life to, out in the middle of nowhere by themselves. It doesn’t make sense.”

 _A lot of things about Jackson don’t make sense._ Stiles thought, his eyes never leaving the pot. Sighing deeply, he switches the phone to his other ear and leaned his lower back against the kitchen counter, eyes closed as he tried his best to formulate a response that didn’t clue Peter in on just how close he was to ending it all with Jackson, all things be damned.

“I know you’re upset about it Peter,” _I am too._ “But, I’m a big boy. I’m fine. Besides, I like being out here by myself, I don’t mind it so much.” _I’m used to it anyway._ “I have Rhett to keep me company.”

“Rhett!” Peter suddenly exclaims, shocking Stiles. “How is Rhett anyway?”

Stiles was confused. “He’s fine? Why? Did you hear something that I don’t know about again?”

“No, no of course not. Just, he’s a fine looking dog that deserves to be checked up on. Saw his picture in the paper today. Didn’t look a day over twenty-one.” Peter got quiet again before asking, “Hey, what was with that god awful collar you had on the boy?”

 _Collar?_ “Collar? Oh, that was just some old piece of junk jewelry Doyle found in the attic.”

Peter was silent for a while before Stiles heard him inhale, a response on the tip of his tongue. At that moment, Stiles heard his pot bubbling rapidly and he turned around just in time to yank the pot off the burner before he had molton sugar cascading down the sides of his pot. “Shit, Peter hold on. Fuck.” Stiles began swirling the pot and looked at the thermometer, surprised to see that he actually hadn’t heated the sugar beyond use.

“You, my friend, are amazing.” Stiles said to himself, giggling. Behind him, Rhett started barking and Stiles rolled his eyes, tired at his dog and its loud mouth. “Rhett, can you please be—” Stiles stopped talking when he looked up and saw the kid with the gun. Fuck.

“Give me your dog.” the kid said, his confidence betrayed by the slight shaking of his voice. “Give me your dog and no one will get hurt.” As he said that, he lowered the gun and pointed it at Rhett and Stiles’ vision went red. He grabbed pot that was still on the stove and tossed it at the boy, the word “No!” leaving his mouth shrilly as the hot sugar arched in the air and his the kid in the face. He dropped the gun and screamed, his hands coming up to his face as he tried to swipe the hot liquid off his skin.

Stiles skirted around and kicked the gun out of reach and the kid charged at him, slamming him into the kitchen wall, hard. Stiles fought back, his elbow going directly for the dude’s stomach, making him hunch over in pain. Rushing out of reach, Stiles grabbed a pan from his drying rack and whacked the guy upside his head, watching with wide eyes as he hit the floor face first.

“Shit,” Stiles heaved out, his heart beating at triple speed. “Ok then.”

“ _Stiles!_ ” He heard Peter shout his name over the phone on the floor. Glaring at the kid on the floor once more, he bent over to pick it up.

“Yeah?”

“Stiles, _what the fuck_ happened?” Peter shouted. He could hear the wind whipping around over the phone and Stiles knew Peter was on his way. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Uh, a kid broke in. He had a gun. Threatened to take Rhett.”

“ _What?!_ Where is he? Stiles, get _out of there_.”

“It’s fine, Peter. He’s on the floor passed out. I’m going to call the police.”

“Stiles. Leave the house. Now.”

Stiles sighed, his energy depleting fast. He didn’t want to deal with this. “I can’t. He passed out across the entrance. I’m not risking it. And the back door isn’t an option, Doyle boarded it up. Now, I’m going to call the police, like I said.”

“No, Stiles, no cops.”

That got his attention. “What the fuck do you _mean_ no cops, Peter? I have to call them.”

Just then, Stiles saw movement from the corner of his eye. He told Peter to shut up and he put the phone down, his grip on his pan tightening as he actually looked at the kid.

He was an actual kid, no older than sixteen. He had dark hair, stringy and so greasy it stuck to his forehead. Knocked out on Stiles’ kitchen floor he looked pretty harmless. Stiles outweighed him by a good thirty pounds probably.

Exhaling deeply, Stiles closed his eyes and tried to calm down. He was so strung out and exhausted. This was not what he wanted to be dealing with right now.

He could hear his therapist whisper in the back of his mind and that pissed him off more.

_How are you feeling right now, Stiles?_

_Well, Doctor D, I’m a bit upset that this punk thought he could break into my house and steal my dog. But, other than that I’m fucking_ peachy.

“Stay right there,” Stiles threatened. He had the pan in his hand still and tried to look as menacing as possible with it. “I called the cops and they’re on their way,” He lied but the kid didn’t have to know that. “You tried this at the wrong house, kid. I’m scary and so is my dog. You’re lucky I didn’t hit you harder.” Shuffling slightly so he was far enough away to get at eye level and be out of reach, Stiles looked the kid in the eye, pan still in view, and asked, “So, mind telling me why you tried to kill my dog?”

“I wasn’t going to kill your dog,” the kid said, his voice higher than anticipated. “I’m not a monster, I wouldn’t kill a dog.”

“The gun, dude. You pointed a gun at him.”

“I was just going to take him,” the boy sniped back, glaring at Stiles. “You didn’t have to get mean and attack me like a mad man, I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t hurt anyone. No, you only broke into my home, with a gun I might add, and threatened me and my dog with said gun, making me feel like a victim in my own home. But, no, you didn’t hurt anyone.” Stiles rolled his eyes and stood up from his squat, walking back towards the phone and Peter. The moment Stiles turned his back, the kid lunged at him, taking Stiles by surprised.

Shocked, Stiles went on the defensive, trying to put as much space between him and the boy as he could. Once free, he held the pan out in front of him to keep the distance.

“Listen kid. Just back down. The cops are on their way and you _so_ do not want to mess with me when I reach my limit, and trust me, I am close. Give up.”

“Give me your dog.”

“Hell no.” Stiles retorted. His patience was holding on by the smallest thread, god help him.

They circled each other for a bit before the kid attacked again, diving for Stiles’ stomach and launching him into the wall, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Stiles jabbed the handle of the pan into his spine which forced him to holler in pain and move away from Stiles, giving him enough room to smack him in the face.

“Get out of my house!” he screamed, going back to hit the kid upside the head. “I don’t want you here, get out!” Another hit and another, each one forcing them across the room. Stiles hit the kid once more and he fell back, his head smacking up against the wall and then his body and then his disappeared _through_ the wall, his screaming abruptly cut off by a dull thud.

Wide eyed in shoc, Stiles shuffled over to the wall, slowly pushing it open with the edge of his pan. The wall swung open and shut softly, the ugly wallpaper torn at the edges. “Huh,” he murmured.

“Stiles!” He jerked his head in the direction he heard his name from and remembered he had left Peter on the phone when the kid moved. He rushed to pick it up.

“Yes, Peter, what is it?” Stiles answered irritably. Today had been a long day, he needed a nap.

“Stiles, what the fuck is going on?” In the background, Stile could hear horns honking and he just knew Peter was breaking about every traffic law to get to Stiles’ house as quick as possible. “Where is the kid, Stiles.”

“Huh, uh, funny thing happened.” Stiles turned back to look at the door he apparently had in his kitchen. “Did you know there was a hidden door in my kitchen, right next to the door that leads to the hallway?” He walked back towards the door and pushed it open again, peering down into the blackness. “Huh.”

“Where is the kid, Stiles?” Peter said, annoyance lacing his tone.

“Now, that’s a question I would love the answer to as well. Stiles moved away from the door to shuffle things around in his junk drawer, looking for the flashlight he knows he had in there. Once he found it he rushed back to the door and shone the light into the darkness.

“Stiles, what are you doing now?”

“I’m looking in the basement that I didn’t know I had! This is so cool, why didn’t Victoria ever tell me about—” Stiles fell silent as his light illuminated something he would never be ready to see. “Oh, fuck.”

“What’s wrong? Stiles, talk to me.”

“It’s the, uh, it’s the kid Peter. He, he’s dead.” Stiles continued to stare at the dead body in his basement, his stomach churning when he realised he did that. He killed that kid. He was the reason he fell through the wall. Fell to his death. “Fuck, Peter, I killed him.”

“You didn’t kill him. He fell through a wall when he decided to attack a crazy person in his house in the middle of the night alone. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

_There is a dead body in my basement because I lost my cool and attacked some kid. There is a lot I did wrong, Peter._

“I have to go,” Stiles says abruptly, hanging up on Peter and calling 911. When he was connected to an operator and was told that someone would be there shortly, he got his shit together and started cleaning the mess that was his kitchen. He had things to do and he wasn’t going to let the dead body in his basement stop him from doing those things. Someone else could handle it.

 ~`~

Half an hour after the dumbass kid had gone screaming through his basement door, Stiles was pulling sheet after sheet of macaron shells from the over and repeating his statement for the fiftieth time for the police. Peter had shown up about forty five minutes ago as a sign of companionship and support while Stiles tried his best to remember his therapy mantras and not lose his fucking cool for good.

Stiles jumped when he felt Peter drop a hand on his shoulder, a comforting smile on the other man’s face. Stiles tried his best to turn the look but know he failed.

Inhaling deeply, Stiles turned to Peter, a look of desperation on his face. “I’m not going to go to jail for hitting the kid, right Peter?”

“Of course not, kid. Everything you did was in self defense. You didn’t kill him, he fell through a wall.” Peter looked at him again and wrapped him in a tight hug. “You ok, kid?”

Stiles shook his head slightly, his reply muffled into Peter’s chest. “There’s some things I haven’t told you.”

“Go on,” He said, pulling away from the hug and draping his arm over Stiles’ shoulder.

“Well, remember my fiancé after college, the one that cheated on me?”

“Yeah, the bastard.”

“Well, when I found out, I hit him in the face. With a frying pan. And broke his nose.”

Peter’s silence made Stiles panic. “Did he file a report?”

Stiles nodded shallowly, his heart in his throat. “Yeah, but he dropped the charges,” Stiles whispered.

“Well,” Peter started, his tone unsure. “This is different. Nothing’s going to—”

“And then three years ago, the journalist I told you about? Well, two years ago he cheated on me with the receptionist at his job and I caught them having sex in my kitchen and I hit him in the back of the head with a cast iron skillet.” _Fucking hell, Peter. Please tell me I’m okay._

“Fuck,” Peter muttered.

“So, what if they look me up and—”

“Did he die?”

“No. They put a metal plate in his head, he’s fine.”

“Did you do any time?”

“Court appointed anger management and therapy sessions plus community service. At a soup kitchen. Nice people.” Stiles plopped his head on Peter’s shoulder, tears burning at his eyes. _Please, Peter. Tell me everything will be okay._

“Well, this was self defense. You’ll be okay, bud.” He wrapped his arm tighter around Stiles’ shoulder and rubbed and Stiles believed him. He always believed Peter.

“By the way,” Peter began, pulling Stiles away to look him in the eye. “I called someone to come out here and stay with you. I don’t like what happened out here and I sure as hell don’t think Jackson can do jackshit if he even comes out here. He should be here soon.”

“Peter,” Stiles protested. He didn’t need a babysitter, he was a grown ass man. “I don’t need someone to watch me, I’m a thirty-one year old man who can take care of himself.”

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes. “I know you are, Stiles. But just, do this for me. Please?”

The look Peter was giving him shut down any argument Stiles had. “Ugh, fine. For you.”

“Good.” Peter walked away to look out the window while Stiles pulled out mor macarons from the oven and set them on a rake to cool, quickly whipping up a batch of buttercream frosting for the filling. While he was sandwiching cookies together, he heard Peter curse softly behind him and he turned to look, an question in his eyes. “We got trouble. More cops are coming up the drive.” Peter said.

“You mean more trouble than the dead body in my basement and the cop meandering around my living room? How?”

“Cop in the hallway is a know nothing deputy who isn’t trouble. Coming up your path is Detective John Stilinski aka the only cop in this god forsaken town who is good at his job. So, trouble.”

Stiles froze and felt the blood drain from his face. “Peter?”

“Hey, it’ll be okay.” Peter walked back to his side and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Just then, they heard a crash from the room across the hall and Stiles sighed.

“It’s probably that Deputy. He keeps wandering around whispering ‘So _this_ is what Beacon Manor looks like’ and he won’t stay put. I even gave him cookies.”

Turning him around and pushing him in the direction of the room, Peter says “Deal with Deputy Dipshit. I’ll handle Stilinski.”

Stiles turned around quickly to look at Peter, tears back in his eyes. “I’m not going to go to jail, right Peter?”

“Of course not, bud. Just, no more hitting people with frying pans, please.”

“Oh okay. I can do that.” Stiles felt small as he shuffled towards the bedroom.

“Stiles, fuck. Stiles, wait.”

Stiles turned around and Peter gave him the frying pan. “I take it back. If that Deputy tries anything, give him a god wack.”

“Ok,” Stiles said, cracking a small smile.

Stiles makes his way into the dark bedroom. He feels around for the bedside lamp to switch it on.

“I told you nothing happened in here,” Stiles said, tone annoyed. “Everything happened in the kitchen, you don’t need to be in here.” _I’m not angry sir, no matter how I sound. Please don’t arrest me._

The curtain blew away from the window and illuminated the room dimly. He saw that the bedside light had been knocked over and before he could call out for the Deputy again, a large hand clamped down over his mouth and a deep voice was whispering ‘shhh’ in his ear, hot breath hitting his neck. Stiles reacted instantly and swung the pan over his head, manging to smack the guy in the shoulder.

He went to swing again when the pan was wrenched out of his hands and he was tossed onto the bed. He scrambled farther up the bed—further away from whoever was with him—and turned on the light, heart pounded hard against his chest.

He made eye contact with the guy and felt his heart go into overdrive. He was a large guy, dressed head to toe in black and looking like something out of Stiles’ wildest dreams. His face was sharp and chiseled, his eyes had more colours in them than Stiles could make out in the dim light, but he knew they were beautiful. He was tense and poised, body and mind on high alert and ready to attack at a moments notice. And Stiles, he knew he should be afraid by the random man in his bedroom, but looking at his face felt like looking at an old friend.

Swallowing, Stiles got off the bed and stood tall, glaring at the dude. “Who are you and what the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“I’m Derek. Peter sent me,” and, well, that makes sense, Stiles could accept that. He looks like Peter. Looks like an old friend.

Derek jerked his head in the direction of the hallway and kitchen. “Who’s out there?”

Stiles scoffed and crossed his arms. “Derek, this is my house so I ask the questions. First, I want to kindly thank you for scaring the shit out of me. Cherry on top of an already amazing day. Now, Peter sent you. Why?”

“He called me and said I needed to protect someone he cares about. Someone named Stiles?”

 _Fucking Peter._ Stiles thought.

Sighing, Stiles said, “That would be me. I’m Stiles.”

Derek was silent for a while before nodding slightly and saying, “Well, Stiles. I’m here to protect you.”

 _Protect me._ That wasn’t good, Stiles knew that. Something more serious than the police finding out about Stiles’ penchant for frying pans, especially if Peter thought that this mountain of a man was needed to protect him.

In the hallway, Stiles could hear the godforsaken grandfather clock Victoria had left in his hallway chime loudly while he looked at Derek some more.

Big. Broad. Dark. Strong. Handsome if broodiness and angst were your thing. Looked like Peter. And he was there to keep Stiles safe. Okay.

“So, Derek,” Stiles said as the clock chimed one last time as midnight fell upon them. “I’ve got Peter in my kitchen, a cop in my hallway, a dead body in my basement, and you in my bedroom. Where’d you want to start?”

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me of any errors you see as this is completely unbeta'd. thank you kindly.


End file.
